


Woof

by islasands



Series: Lambski [39]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Homecoming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is happy to be back home - with his current partner...</p><p>I wrote this story with Pierre Barouh's "Samba Saravah" on my mind, so I included it. You might like to listen as you read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woof

"Samba Saravah"

  


Pierre Barouh

  


Adam looked up at their house. It was so good to be home, a goodness so calm and ordinary and friendly it reminded Adam of his childhood pleasure in coming home from school, - opening the gate, sauntering down the path, dumping his bag in the hall, wandering into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. Back then he did not even know it was his home, didn’t think of it as such, for it was all he had, all he knew, as much a part of him as his legs and arms. It was the same with Sauli, only now the first thing that crossed his mind when he crossed the threshold of his home was sex, - then food, though sometimes, to be honest, the two things occurred to his mind simultaneously and he thought of food while they made love. It was a good sign. He thought of this as he unpacked his case with Sauli sat on the bed and they talked and laughed about things. He was deliberately delaying the gratification of fucking his beautiful love, just as he was delaying inquiring about the pleasant cooking smell wafting from the kitchen. He smiled at the base sensuality of his appreciation of ‘home’. “I am a glutton for rewards,” he thought. The smile broadened to a grin. He liked himself a great deal for thinking that. It was such a nice change from being a glutton for that other thing.

Yes, it was all so easy, so natural, resuming the rhythm of their domesticity. If he had thought about in terms of music, and most things in his life came back to that, Adam would have said the tune of their love was like one of those special songs that makes you relive a time or place when you were happy. It accommodated all their emotional weather without changing a beat or chord. What they had composed together, almost in the instant they first met, played in the background of their daily comings and goings in much the same way as the seaside is always a beautiful place to go walking. Come rain or shine. But he didn’t think of saying it. He simply felt it, and unconsciously hummed his contentment in his head.

On a particular evening they lay in bed and watched videos of Adam’s latest interviews and perfomances. Sauli had his arm around Adam’s shoulders and his hand on his chest. He often did. It was one of the things that Adam liked so much about him, - the physicality of his affection. It came naturally to him. He caressed people and animals and objects without knowing he was doing it. It amused and pleased Adam to think he was included in Sauli’s general caress of life.

_“You pat me the same way you pat dogs,” he had once said, after visitors came calling with their family pet in tow._

_“Do I?” Sauli had replied. He was standing at the stove stirring something. He looked up and smiled at Adam._

_“Come here, Musti,” he said. “Taste this.” He held out a spoon. “Good boy,” he added as Adam tasted it. He reached up and ruffled his hair. “Musti?” Adam said. “My dog. You are my bear dog,” Sauli replied, returning to his task. “Karjalankarhukoira,” he explained. “Black and white like you, and most loyal also.”_

Remembering this Adam nestled against Sauli’s shoulder. He felt like a dog. His heart wagged its tail when Sauli walked through the room he was in, or opened the door to his office, or stroked his forehead when he lay on his lap on the couch, and the fire was on and a movie was playing and they had snacks.  And yes, he _was_ loyal and for once in a relationship did not feel it was a failing. He suddenly closed the laptop and put it on the side table. He rolled on his back and held up his arms, elbows bent, and flopped his hands at the wrist.

“Call me Musti again,” he said, looking up hopefully. Sauli turned on his side and looked down at him speculatively. He reached down and scratched at Adam’s abdomen as though it was fur. He patted his stomach. He looked fondly at his face.

He whistled.

Adam sprang up and pounced on him, pulling him beneath him, crouching over him and growling and sniffing at the side of his neck.

In the night Sauli woke and remembered something he had forgotten to say. He nudged Adam. “Wake up a little bit,” he said. Adam rolled over and sleepily opened his eyes. “What is it,” he mumbled. He kissed Sauli’s shoulder. He liked being woken up.

“I am thinking if I have a dog, I do not have a current dog. It is my only dog. Until it is dead, it is my only dog.”

For a moment Adam felt baffled and then it dawned on him. “Come here,” he said. He folded Sauli up in his embrace. He touched his face. “Oh, your cheeks are wet,” he said. He hugged Sauli tight. He could not help smiling at the magnitude of his good fortune. That such a thing should cross his mind, worry him, in the middle of the night!

“You are the man I am with now,” he said sternly. “Every wave of you breaking over my life is new. That’s what makes you my ‘current love’.” He kissed Sauli’s wet cheeks and smoothed his hair. “And for the first time in my life, loving someone deeply, I am not afraid of the future.”

Sauli sighed. He snuggled against Adam, satisfied and comforted. He quickly fell back to sleep.

But Adam stayed awake. He thought about his album. He thought about each song, playing it in his head. He thought about touring again. He thought about being in Moscow again. A vague picture of a crowd dancing en masse to one of his songs presented itself to his mind. He tried to see himself in that picture, to see what he looked like on the stage, but all he could see was his boots. He began thinking about boots. He started to dream up a design for boots. Then he thought about how Sauli had taken off his boots when he got home from the promo tour. How he had fallen on the bed, so grateful and worn out and happy, and Sauli had taken off his boots. He kissed Sauli’s head.

“You do know that every song I sing has you in it somewhere,” he said to the dark. “Even the sad arse ones. You’re in there somewhere, patting my silly head. And when they ask me about you, and I tell them things, I’m proud to tell them, - but to them it’s just a story. Not to me. Not to you.” He paused. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer. He did not need one.

The night continued on its unhurried way. Their bodies turned this way and that as though they were sticks of driftwood being shifted by waves, knocking together softly, separate but inseparable. When Adam woke up he could hear Sauli singing in the shower. It was a Finnish song. He liked it when he spoke his mother tongue. It was so masculine, so ruggedly expressive, so much more geographical sounding than English.

Sauli came into the room, a towel around his waist. His eyes were so blue that Adam was taken aback. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything to say.

So he said “Woof”. And again as Sauli fell on him, damp and rosy from the shower, “Woof!”

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End file.
